She had found two copies of the magazine and carefully cut out both photos. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep. "Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. “You’ve grown out of them. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. He waited.
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